


The Forgotten Boy, The Forgotten Hero

by llewynn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: City Elf Origin, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, basically the kind of comfort that you get from being around friends, i am so bad at tagging, so you know what you're getting into, this is very self indulgent because i love my warden very much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:47:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llewynn/pseuds/llewynn
Summary: When the Hero of Ferelden becomes the Inquisition's newest ally, some wonder what Skyhold's resident mindreader thinks about Grisia Tabris.--You know how Cole has these vague dialogues about all the companions and advisors? I figured it’d be nice if he had anything to say about my Warden, who in this story has left the Grey Warden order for good and is now assisting the Inquisition. This is essentially all about that.The story will include graphic depictions of violence, mentions of rape (city elf origin, you know how that shit went), lyrium withdrawal, going nearly mad from the Calling, and other such tragedies which will be listed accordingly as it happens. It’s a pain fest all around. Just thought I’d let you know.





	1. A Tortured Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Hero of Ferelden now an ally of the Inquisition, Olivier asks Skyhold’s resident mindreader what he thinks of Grisia Tabris after a game of Wicked Grace.

It was a very subtle thing, that habit of hers. It took Olivier weeks to notice it, but when she finally did it was impossible to ignore the way Grisia always seemed to be either be singing or tapping some part of her body to a rhythm or a song. She did it as she wandered the battlements, looking out at the mountains surrounding Skyhold, tapping her fingers on the parapet to what vaguely sounded like the refrain of one of Bard Halewell's songs. She did it as she went over reports and drew up training schedules for the new recruits, humming a Chantry hymn almost absentmindedly. A lull in the conversation and she would be tapping her heels to the beat of a song the Chargers had once energetically bellowed during one of their drinking parties. Sometimes she sang, her quiet voice surprisingly clear and crisp; Olivier once stumbled upon the elf softly singing the old Orlesian song She of the Highwaymen Repents in the Undercroft. Maker knows what she was doing in there, although Dagna had confided in Olivier with barely contained glee that the Hero of Ferelden often came down to the Undercroft to chat with the dwarf while working on a seemingly personal project. 

Now as they played Wicked Grace in the tavern, Grisia was doing it again. She stared at the cards in one hand, the other's fingers steadily drumming a marching beat on the table. Her face bore completely no emotion save for the slight furrowing of her brows. Initially there were only five people playing this time around; Josephine was busy going over trade deals and plotting the political assassinations of the Inquisition's enemies, while Dorian and the Iron Bull had gone off somewhere for some private fun. Blackwall had declined, saying that he had errands to run, and no one had the heart to disturb Cassandra from re-reading Swords and Shields for the fifth time in a row. Cullen had absolutely refused to play and slammed the door in Varric's face before the dwarf even had the chance to say 'card game'. Then of course, halfway through the game Sera found the Iron Bull's secret cache of Qunari ale ("I'm gonna drink it, put some chest on my boobs!") and decided to drink herself senseless. She passed out under the table, leaving them with only four players. 

It was a slow night, all in all.

"Are you in, Two Hands?" Varric shot the former Warden a grin. 

Grisia's fingers stopped mid-drum. She mulled over the pile of coin on the table before reaching into her pocket. "Raise you another silver," she answered, tossing the coin onto the table.

"I fold," announced the Inquisitor. She put her cards face-down on the table and held her hands up in surrender. "I knew it was crazy to play with you two."

Cole's expression was an amusing mixture of worry and panic as he looked at his cards. "Neither the angel nor the king want their halos. The snake is dead under the armoured horse; _I don't think I can win._ " He looked absolutely horrified.

"That's another fold. Looks like it's just you and me now, Sharpshot. You going for the call, or are you playing it safe and drawing another card?" Grisia's smile was almost infuriatingly smug.

Varric shook his head. "You're totally bluffing. There's no way you can win. I call." He laid his cards face-up on the table and waited.

Grisia made a tsk-ing sound and threw down her cards triumphantly. "Four songs. Should've been more careful, Varric. You know it's impossible to catch me bluffing." She gleefully gathered the coins into a purse as Varric swore and downed his tankard. 

"That's it, I'm out. Goodnight, Inquisitor. Kid." He nodded at Olivier and Cole. " _Cheater._ " This he almost spat at Grisia, who merely gave him a lazy wave as he strode out the tavern door. 

"Cheater?" Olivier looked at her suspiciously. Cole had largely ignored the game and was immersing himself in the cards, shuffling through them and staring at the pictures.

The elf pushed her chair back and stood up. "Oh, don't mind him," she said cheerfully as she pulled on her coat. "He's just being a sore loser. Although I may or may not have sneaked a few cards from the discarded pile..." She laughed out loud at the outraged look on the other woman's face.

"So you did cheat!"

"You know, you're actually _supposed_ to cheat in Wicked Grace. Makes the game more interesting for everyone."

"Except for those who don't cheat." Olivier countered.

"I don't know, Lady Montilyet seems to be having fun even when she's playing with cheaters like me. She still wins anyhow. Shall I wake Sera?" 

"That's alright, just leave her. She'll wake on her own."

"Right. I'll see you in the morning, Your Grace." Grisia saluted her in farewell and left the tavern, humming yet another song. 

Olivier sat back in her chair and watched the former Warden's retreating back until it disappeared into the inky darkness of the night. It had been two months since she first joined the Inquisition and already Grisia had advanced their cause by leaps and bounds. Her contacts in the underworld had been incredibly useful, supplying them with materials the Inquisition would have been hard-pressed to obtain, while her past experience in investigating various people in high places provided Josephine with ample information that would give the diplomat a much needed edge during negotiations. Although occasionally some malcontented souls would give her whispered grief -- _the strange knife-ear must have an ulterior motive, nothing but a wretched snake_ \-- she shrugged off all insults with a charming smile and generally got along well with everyone. Grisia Tabris had proven herself to be a powerful and staunchly loyal ally to the Inquisition, and yet there was something about her that bothered Olivier to no end. It was something in her demeanour, the way she carried herself; friendly yet aloof, affable but reticent, so very charming and still so very withdrawn. She was contradiction in the flesh, one paradox after another bundled into a single soul. She mystified the Inquisitor, and the fact that she did irritated Olivier to no end.

The first time she met Grisia Tabris, both Leliana and Cullen had neglected to inform her that the copper-headed elf was in fact _the_ legendary Hero of Ferelden. Cullen merely assured her that Grisia was someone who could be trusted, while Leliana couldn't even find her voice, so ecstatic she was to see an old and treasured friend again. It was only during a war council meeting after the siege of Adamant Fortress when she mentioned contacting the Hero of Ferelden -- and Cullen and Leliana slowly looked at each other before looking at Grisia -- that Olivier finally discovered that the Hero had been in Skyhold all along. 

Said Hero in question later claimed: "I thought they already told you! I never expected them to actually forget to tell you about it!" It took her a while to stop laughing.

For someone so legendary her existence bothered on mythical, Grisia was quite an unexpected character. The way the story was told, most people would have expected an honourable and proud warrior to be the one who had stopped the Fifth Blight. No one could have expected the Hero of Ferelden to be an elven assassin-slash-grenadier, of all the possible things, and it was a fact that Grisia herself found endlessly amusing. "When I was the Warden-Commander in Amaranthine," she told Olivier over dinner, "I once met a barkeep who refused to sell things to me because I was both a woman and an elf." 

"What did you do to him? Stab him in the eye with his own pen? I hope you stabbed his eye out with a pen," said Dorian, who was eating with them at the time.

"Nothing. I simply left the place, although my subordinates were all but threatening to burn his shop down for being so rude. Several months later, the darkspawn attacked Amaranthine and I led a company of Wardens there to repel the assault." She took a sip from her drink and a wicked smile crossed her face. "The look on his face when he realised the elf he refused service to was actually a Commander of the Grey was priceless."

The fact that a prominent Grey Warden such as herself had actually abandoned the order was all the more surprising; the only explanation that she would offer was that the Wardens at Weisshaupt knew about Corypheus's existence but would do nothing about it, causing her to leave the order in disgust, but that was all she would say about the matter.

"It's not something you'd want to know more about, Your Grace. It'll just complicate matters further, and we already have enough to deal with." Grisia had said that in response to Olivier's questioning, her fingers absentmindedly twirling a lock of hair, twisting and twining in a steady rhythm, and the Inquisitor had left it at that. Didn't mean she wasn't bothered by it, but she had the feeling Grisia would not take it kindly if she had pushed any further for answers. Her voice had been matter of fact and her smile was genuine, but within her eyes burned a forbidding warning; ask any more, and she would snap in a bloodied frenzy. She was terrifying that way; there was a limit to her charming friendliness, and Olivier had instinctively felt that crossing that line would be a dangerous and reckless thing to do. There was a monster inside her, a destructive force of nature. Olivier wondered if she was truly a good thing for the Inquisition; the Hero of Ferelden, that charismatic, reclusive, and deadly ex-Warden named Grisia Tabris.

Cabot's coughing interrupted her from her reverie, and Olivier was startled to realise how late it was. "Sorry, Cabot!" she called to the dwarven bartender, and hauled Cole to his feet and towards the door. The dwarf grunted in response and started to clear the table of empty plates and tankards, wholeheartedly ignoring the slumbering elf sprawled under it. 

It was unusually cold outside the tavern and Olivier shivered, drawing her cloak tighter around her. The great hall would be warm, with its crackling fire; she thought longingly of the roaring fire in her own quarters, and she began to walk towards the castle. "Come on, Cole. The sooner we get inside, the warmer we'll be. Shall we stop by the kitchen and get something warm to drink?" she suggested, but after a few paces and no response from the boy, Olivier stopped and turned to look at him. He stood in front of the tavern, unmoving, the cards in his hands forgotten. His eyes were fixed upon a figure on the tower by Skyhold's main gate; a figure that Olivier gradually recognised to be Grisia. The elf appeared to be sitting on the parapet and staring up at the night sky, and even at this distance Olivier could see her body moving slightly to some silent music that only she could hear. 

It was unnerving.

Just as she was about to voice her thoughts out loud, Cole suddenly cut her short and said, "She sings songs to drown out the lullabies in her sleep, but the music stays even when she's awake."

His voice was soft as he added, "It tears her apart and she sings so it doesn't show."

Olivier stared at him, stunned by the sudden cryptic revelation. It wasn't anything new; granted, Cole had often dropped little subtle nuggets of information about their friends and everyone else around them, but this was the first time he'd said anything about the Hero of Ferelden. "What do you mean, Cole?"

"The Calling calls to her, every waking moment and every dreaming second. It's a song she doesn't want to hear so she sings other songs so she could ignore it." He watched the small figure at the top of the tower for a while before turning his gaze towards Olivier. "We should play cards more often," he said, his face serious. "It helps her forget. She's happier when she doesn't remember."

Up on the tower, Grisia stared up at the night sky and tried her hardest to count the stars, subconsciously moving her body to a silly children's nursery rhyme she'd recalled from her childhood in the Alienage. There were precious few things that she could do to try and keep herself from falling asleep, but counting stars by far seemed to be her best option. Up in the mountains, the skies were like velvet sprinkled with tiny diamonds, making it easy to pick out the stars that shone so vividly. Sometimes she thought about how Alistair might be looking up at the same sky in Denerim, and the idea brought her a small amount of comfort.

She wondered if he was affected by Corypheus's Calling as well. She hoped fervently that he wasn't, that his distance from this whole mess would keep him safe; he was all the way on the other side of Ferelden and she prayed for him to stay away. The last thing she wanted was for him to get himself caught in some ancient darkspawn chaos when he had an entire kingdom to run. He had sworn off that life, left it for good, and she wanted it to stay that way. 

That was the reason why she left him in the first place. It didn't matter that he was no longer a Grey Warden; darkspawn blood still ran through his veins, and that meant he was still susceptible to the Calling. She couldn't have that. It wasn't fair; _he'd left that life behind_ , and so she had begged for his permission to let her search for a way to cure the Calling. 

He didn't want to let her go, at first. She was still a Warden-Commander then, and their respective duties made it hard for them to see each other. It hadn't been two years since the Blight, and already she wanted to leave? He had joked that she must have been getting tired of him, and she had gotten angry enough to hit him for the first time; a resounding slap across his face, and one look at his expression was all it took for her to fall in a heap at his feet, crying her heart out. 

His fingers touched her face and wiped away her tears, soft gentle kisses on her eyes and cheeks; he gathered her into his arms, whispering all the while: _it's alright, I'm not angry, please don't cry. I'm here. I won't leave you. It's alright. It's going to be alright._ She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly, choked whimpers pleading with him, wanting him to stay safe, wanting him to live a life that was rightfully his. _I'm sorry._ Wanting him to become untainted. _I love you._ Wanting him to _live._

He carried her to bed and made tender love to her that night. He kissed her in all the soft places, places that made her moan and writhe in his arms, fingers clawing at his back. Limbs tangled in one another and in silken sheets. Bare skin that felt burning to the touch, lips crashing, fumbling, hold and release. They kissed once, twice, a hundred times. She called out his name. He whispered hers. They fell asleep with fingers tracing the body that each knew so intimately, memorising every faded scar, every curve in the delicate flesh, every mark that made them who they were. Tender kisses, silently in love. They never wanted to be apart.

She left Denerim the next morning. One last kiss and she was gone, keenly aware of Alistair watching her as she disappeared into the morning crowd in the market. She kept walking until she was sure he could no longer see her, and only then did she turn around to look at the castle one last time. Only then did she allow herself to cry.

The first three years were difficult. Grisia had gotten accustomed to travelling with companions, and for the first time in years she was finally, truly on her own. It didn't help that she had resigned from her position as Warden-Commander; take away her rank and she became nothing more than a lowly elf. A flat-ear, laughed the city elves still trapped in their alienages, a deluded elf trying to find her place in the human world. Still a second-class citizen, a target for prejudice. Worthless.

She invested in a good heavy duty woolen cloak with a hood and almost 100% of the problems she'd encountered regarding her pointed ears immediately disappeared. Funny how people were more suspicious of an elf than a mysterious hooded figure whose face couldn't be clearly seen, but hey - as long as it worked for her. A lone cloaked traveller wandered throughout Thedas, visiting Warden strongholds in each nation, looking for a clue, any clue, on the Calling and how to end it.  She'd returned to Denerim every once in a while -- it was a condition Alistair had made her agree to, that she would stay by his side for a time before searching again -- and over time she grew increasingly frustrated over the futility of her search and her king's utter lack of diplomatic sense.

Alistair once said to her, jokingly as always, "Well, if you're so angry about how I do things, then how about you do them instead?"

She took him up on his offer and became his personal advisor, a shadow minister never seen in court; she dealt with various diplomatic issues, sending out ambassadors to trade deals and coming up with contingency plans should the Fereldans grow disillusioned with their king. Luckily those plans never had to be put into action, but the two of them had a lot of fun coming up with all the possible ways the peasantry and nobility might try and topple Alistair's reign. There had been opposition, certainly -- an elf in the Fereldan court, working so closely with the king?What scandal! The malevolent whispers ceased to exist when she successfully negotiated a peace treaty with the Avvar in the Fallow Mire and stopped them from attacking surrounding villages. Grisia worked tirelessly alongside her king until news of the Kirkwall Chantry's explosion reached their ears, and she'd discovered that one of her former subordinates was responsible for the chaos. 

Grisia had never meant to leave for so long. Initially all she'd wanted to do was find Anders, give him a good knock on the head, scold him a little, and then go back home to her king. She travelled all the way to Kirkwall but couldn't find any trace of her former subordinate; instead, she met Varric, former companion of the Champion of Kirkwall who was reportedly Anders' lover. He couldn't tell her where to find Anders or Hawke, but he told her about Anders and Justice and Vengeance and that made her understood, and while meeting Varric was the best stroke of good luck she'd had in a while, it also led to her discovering the Wardens' prison in the Vimmark Mountains, and subsequently the ancient darkspawn called Corypheus. Varric had assured her that Corypheus had been slain but Grisia knew better; the only reason she'd survived killing an Archdemon was because of Morrigan's dark ritual, and there was no way killing Corypheus would be so easy. 

She went to Weisshaupt for answers that were not forthcoming. Answers that never did. They told her she was wrong, that Corypheus was slain by the Champion of Kirkwall, that Thedas had nothing to fear. They told her that she was influenced by her own fears, her own nightmares from the Fifth Blight. The time for heroes had long passed, they told her, and they shut the door in her face. 

That was when she threw down the mantle of Grey Warden, and swore she would never return to the order so long as she drew breath. It was sheer negligence, that was what it was; they knew something terrible had happened, and they'd wanted no part of it. None. It infuriated her. What honour! What heroism! Bah! They were nothing more than running rats afraid that their secret had come to light. 

Then again, someone had to deal with Corypheus. Someone had to find out how much of a threat an ancient darkspawn is to Thedas. There had to be someone who would try and fix this mess. There was no one. 

So Grisia took it upon herself to right the Wardens' wrong, and began to look for more information on this Corypheus. Oh, Alistair had not been happy, but he'd relented when he saw the rage in her eyes, the way her fist left a bloody crack on the wall. She spent years doing all she can to obtain information of ancient darkspawn prisons; everything from breaking into Circle libraries and Warden keeps to blackmailing prominent figures in society. She paid close attention to rumours; whispers of a new breed of templars, of glowing crimson armour and crazed murderous rage. She avoided areas where the fighting between mages and templars were at their worst, although she sometimes interceded in the conflict when she saw the possibility of a peaceful solution. And in the back of her mind a strange music began to sing; an ancient whisper calling her to the deep...

The Calling had begun. At first she'd dismissed it as nothing more than the fancies of a tired mind (too long researching the history of the Blight, perhaps?), but when she awoke one day screaming and thrashing from the nightmare, the Calling still resounding in her ears, she knew it was the real thing. It preyed on her worst memories, her worst fears; the Calling ridiculed her on all the things she had ever regretted in her life, and taunted her on all the choices she would later regret. It was a demonic whispering, a corrupted melody that sang in the back of her mind, that never truly went away. 

It nearly drove her mad. The Calling was incessant, and it brought with it nightmares on a whole new level. More than once she found herself retching with her hands clasped around her own throat, driven too far by the torturous visions. More than once she found herself contemplating a long walk into the Deep Roads, if only to find an escape from the singing. More than once she thought about giving up, until one day she stumbled upon a minstrel singing in an inn in Caimen Brea. His voice was plain and altogether not very exceptional, but the steady rhythm of his lute brought ease to Grisia's tortured psyche, and she spent a long time merely listening to the minstrel ply his trade. By the end of the day, she had acquired the habit of humming whatever song that'd popped in her head, all in order to distract herself from the death's whispers of the Calling. It kept her going strong, even through the days when she felt like killing herself because there was always a song to pull her through the haze of pain. There was always a song for her to sing, and so she would go on.

It was pure luck that she had been riding through Orlais when she heard word of an Inquisition attack on the Adamant Fortress, a legendary Grey Warden stronghold. Her interest piqued by this news and the fact that she herself had been ambushed by an astonishing number of Grey Wardens, she immediately turned her steed around and made her way to the Western Approach just in time to see the Inquisition's trebuchets tearing down the walls of the fortress. One thing led to another and somehow she found herself swearing her loyalty to the Inquisition, pledging her help to end Corypheus, and now here she was: sitting on top of a tower in the Inquisition's headquarters, lost in old memories. Now that she knew Corypheus was the one responsible for the sudden Calling, she could breathe a little easier knowing there was a way to end it. She wondered if she could return to Denerim after everything was over.

"...sia! ... Grisia? GRISIA!"

The shout nearly made her slip off the parapet. She walked over to the side of the tower and peered down to see the Inquisitor looking up at her, beckoning her to come down, a steaming mug in each hand. Grisia pointed to herself quizzically. 

"Yes, you!" Olivier hissed. "Could you _please_ get down here already?"

The elf hauled herself over the edge and slid down the stone walls of the tower before jumping off to land safely on the battlements. "Enjoying a midnight stroll, are we?" she teased the Inquisitor, keeping her voice light. "I think you're at the wrong tower."

Olivier started to look exasperated, but shook her head and sighed instead. "I got you some tea," she said, handing Grisia the mug.

Grisia raised an eyebrow but accepted the mug anyway. "That's it? Just tea? No telling me to stuff it about Cullen?" She made a show of examining the tea in the mug. "You didn't put something in this, did you?"

"Just take it, Grisia."   
  
"Alright, alright," she chuckled. They stood on the battlements in silence, Grisia humming to herself between sips of the drink.

Twisting the mug in her hands, the Inquisitor took a deep breath and asked tentatively, "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all. Go ahead."

"Do you sing... because you hear the Calling?"

Grisia stopped humming. "Why do you ask?" she replied, trying hard to keep her voice steady and failing. 

She could tell her reaction made Olivier nervous. "I've noticed that you're always singing, or humming, or tapping your finger to music all the time," the younger woman stammered, "and Cole says it's because you want to forget the Calling. Is it... is that true?"

Grisia stared at Olivier for several minutes before sighing heavily. She ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. "Yes," she admitted, suddenly tired. "Yes, I'm hearing lullabies in my head telling me to kill myself in the Deep Roads. I'm told it's a common occurrence amongst Grey Wardens."

"But we've killed the Nightmare demon!" Olivier protested. "Corypheus shouldn't be able to affect any Grey Wardens now!"

"Oh, Maker knows what Corypheus can or can't do at this stage. He could be turning a herd of druffalo into some bizarre darkspawn hybrid for all we know." Grisia stared sullenly into her mug. "Besides, it's probably just me being too sensitive to it. Not a single day goes by that I'm not having nightmares, after all."

"Is that a Grey Warden thing as well?"

The elf smiled without humour. "It is, but since I actually killed an Archdemon my dreams are lot worse than your average Warden's."  

"Are your dreams really that bad?"

"Bad?" Grisia began to giggle, her voice growing louder and louder until she was roaring with laughter. " _Bad?_ My dear Inquisitor," her gaze bore into the shaken woman, "have you ever killed a high dragon before?"

Olivier nodded, swallowing nervously. She remembered the battle. The Iron Bull had been knocked out thrice during the fight and they'd used up every potion they had just to kill the beast.

"Good. Now imagine a dragon at least five times that big, and imagine you're the only living thing standing in front of it. The world is burning. All this?" Grisia gestured to Skyhold. "Gone. Reduced to rubble. Imagine your companions around you. All dead. The Iron Bull? He's dead. Horns broken, body splintered, crushed under the Archdemon's claws. Sera's hanging on a tree branch by her guts and Cassandra burns like kindling. There's no sound. There's no chaos. The only thing you can hear is the Archdemon's roar and your own screaming and _you can't tell which one is real._ " 

Her throat grew hoarse and her voice began to crack. "You ask if it's bad. You ask if it's really something that I should be terrified of." She locked eyes with Olivier's. "What would happen if every time you close your eyes, it's Cullen's broken body that you see in front of you?" Olivier blanched, what little blood left draining from her face, and for a split second Grisia felt grim satisfaction at the other woman's reaction. "What if every time you close your eyes, you see the bodies of those closest to you, dead or dying? You could've saved them somehow; you could have saved them but you didn't and now they're all dead. The sky is raining fire, the world is in cinders, everyone you've ever cared for is dead and despite that, _despite all that_ , you know what the worst part of it all is?

"It's hearing the Archdemon whisper in your head that all the carnage and destruction you're seeing is _exactly how it's supposed to be._ Do you understand how that can make you feel? How that makes me feel?"

Olivier frantically shook her head, her face still pale and terrified.

"It feels like it's tearing me apart from the inside, and that's on a good day. On bad days, I wake up covered in my own vomit and blood. I can't breathe because I'm choking on my own goddamn nightmares, AND THE FUCKING MUSIC GOES ON EVEN WHEN I'M AWAKE!" With a feral scream she spun and hurled the mug at her feet, the fine porcelain smashing into pieces. A light was lit in a room somewhere in Skyhold, its occupant undoubtedly startled awake by the noise.

Silence fell as she struggled to regain her composure, her breathing ragged and heavy. Her fists clenched tightly, nails digging into flesh. She had not meant to scream, to lose control, but she had tried so hard to ignore the Calling whispering in the back of her mind and the visions that plagued her in her sleep, and Olivier's questions, no matter how well-meaning, had finally pushed her over the edge. Grisia rubbed her hands over her face and swore, tasting the blood at the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice haggard and quiet. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the Calling isn't exactly my favourite topic to talk about."

Olivier shook her head again. "No, don't apologise. I should've considered. I'm sorry for putting you through this." She bit her bottom lip, mentally berating herself for her tactlessness.

"Not at all. Thanks for reminding me about those dreams, by the way. To think I was doing such a good job distracting myself from them too." The Inquisitor's distressed face made her feel a little guilty, but at this point Grisia was far too exhausted and drained to care any longer. She turned and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" asked Olivier timidly.

"The barracks," Grisia answered, her voice terse. "I'm going to check on the new sparring schedules, see if there's anything lacking. Anything to keep me from falling asleep." She stopped mid-stride and turned to look at the Inquisitor. "Do you need anything else from me?" Olivier shook her head and watched as she left the battlements.

By the time Olivier finally called out to her again, she was already halfway across the courtyard. 

"If you want, would you like to join us the next time we play cards?" She couldn't see Olivier's face from this distance, but she could hear the tremble in her voice. Could hear the nervous apology in her words.

Despite the pain, Grisia couldn't help but break into a soft smile.

"I'd like that, Your Grace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- listen... i mentioned it in the tags but grisia tabris is the love of my life... i love her more than hawke and my trevelyan so please excuse this self-indulgence /buries self in sand
> 
> \- for more information on grisia tabris [click here](http://konnono.tumblr.com/wardengt)!
> 
> \- also [here](http://konnono.tumblr.com/dac) for more general info on my warden, hawke, and inquisitor /shameless promo
> 
> \- have i mentioned how much i love dragon age?


	2. the long walk: interlude 1

\- t h e  s i l e n c e -

the sound of your footsteps. water trickling through cracks in the tunnel. laboured breathing as you trudge further and further into the bowels of the earth. your armour clinks and rattles with every movement you make. you can hear the rust creeping on the steel. is that darkspawn you hear shuffling behind you, coming up around the corner? is that your scream or theirs? you can no longer tell.

after a while, it all begins to blur together. 

you can no longer tell.


	3. Last One Standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a young elf tries to attack the Inquisition right in their own stronghold, Grisia takes drastic measures to ensure the boy’s survival, possibly at the cost of her own life.

Today was a good day in Skyhold, thought the commander as he stepped outside the Throne Room; the war council meeting had gone reasonably well with the Inquisitor making only one bad decision this time around ("What do you mean we shouldn't go around baiting high dragons? It's for research.  _Science!_ "), agents in Orlais and Ferelden reported significantly decreased sightings of red templar soldiers in both countries, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, and there was a pleasant breeze in the air... along with lots of people yelling. Panic gripped him for a split second before he realised the shouting was coming from the general direction of the sparring ring in front of the armoury, and that one of the voices belonged to the Hero of Ferelden.

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as he made his way towards the sparring ring. Grisia was there, locked in combat against -- are his eyes deceiving him? --  _five_ Inquisition soldiers at the same time, and not seeming to have the slightest problem with it. Rather, she was laughing as she dodged and weaved through every single one of them, parrying each of their blows with ease. The Inquisition soldiers sparring with her, he noted to his surprise, didn't seem too unhappy either; there was excitement in their eyes, a sort of happiness at being able to challenge such an unusual enemy like her and Maker she was unusual -- she wielded an elegant longsword in each hand, her movements no more weighted down than if she were wielding paring knives. The last time he had seen someone dual wield weapons other than daggers was at least ten years ago; it was technically considered a lost combat discipline by now, and it was refreshing to see someone still capable of the skill. The others surrounding the ring and cheering them on seemed excited too. Grisia was perhaps the only person who could create this sort of atmosphere during a sparring session, thought Cullen amusedly. The Iron Bull generated awestruck fear whenever  _he_ sparred with someone, and while Blackwall's training was generally well-received by the recruits, he couldn't create an atmosphere where it was actually enjoyable to be in the ring. And Cassandra? There was a reason why she usually trained alone. She pretended the soldiers' absolute terror of her didn't bother her at all, but Cullen knew better.

 _This_ woman? There was a certain level of infamy about her that had made the soldiers nervous, that was true, but she had managed to get into their good graces the moment she stepped foot into Skyhold. She was used to being in the field, used to being the one who had to follow orders and stick it out even when things went ten thousand ways to hell. She took notice of the injured and traumatised, and kept them company as they healed. She offered to check up on their families on days when she had to leave Skyhold for missions. She  _knew_ what it was like being a regular soldier, and that had the others warming up to her. They liked her, and the fact that the Hero of Ferelden would take the time to train with mere soldiers like them only increased their respect towards her. There had been those who resented her on principle due to her being an elf, of course, but those disgruntled voices were few and far in between, and had died out almost completely after word spread of her contributions to the Inquisition which included foiling an assassination attempt on Lady Montilyet's life, single-handedly destroying a small Venatori encampment in the Hissing Wastes, and bringing back a lost pup that had belonged to one of the armoury smiths.

Cullen approached the ring, motioning the others to keep silent about his presence, and watched as they sparred. Curiously, so far Grisia had done nothing but dodge and parry blows again and again. He noticed a mage beside him keeping track of time with a sand timer, and before he had the time to even wonder why, he heard Grisia yell from inside the ring.

"Is it ten minutes yet?"

"Almost!" The mage shouted back eagerly. "Just a little more... a bit more... TEN MINUTES!"

The crowd hollered, and Grisia suddenly shifted her stance. A heartbeat passed and one of the soldiers was thrown off his feet, flying through the air and landing on his back outside the ring. It had taken place almost too fast for anyone to catch it, but Cullen saw how the soldier had tried to bash her with his shield, and she had countered the blow with one herself, using both blades at once like a greatsword to send him flying instead. Grisia whirled a sword in one hand and stood ready, challenging the remaining four to attack, a taunting smile on her lips.

To their credit, they did their absolute best to take her down; in the following fight that ensued one of them got creative and tried to knock her down with a low sweep, but Grisia jumped over her --  _jumped over her_  -- and kicked her in the back, sending her face-first into the ground. She stood in the ring and lifted her swords victoriously in the air to the cheers of the onlookers, grinning at them until she spotted Cullen.

"Commander! Didn't realise you were watching!" She slid the swords back into their scabbard at her hip and made her way towards him, stopping to help one of the soldiers up to his feet. "Nice try with the pommel strike," she told the poor man whom she had struck across the helmeted face just a little while ago, "but I'd recommend trying to hit a little lower. A blow to the jaw works just as well as one to the temple." The soldier shakily saluted her and left the ring, presumably to head to the infirmary for something to clear his ringing head. Grisia turned back to the commander. "Well? Did you enjoy the show?"

"Not as much as the others did." He chuckled. "Although I must admit I was impressed when you broke that shield in half with a kick."

She laughed. "Oh, I was impressed too, believe me. Wasn't expecting it to be that flimsy."

"I'll have a word with our smiths, have them rework our standard issue shields."

"You do that." She climbed over the ring and stretched herself languidly beside him. "I could use a drink after all that moving around. You coming with me?"

Cullen motioned for her to lead the way, and they walked together towards the tavern where they found a table upstairs, where it was quieter and there were fewer people. The waitress came and took their order; he asked for ale, she asked for mead. As the waitress bustled off, Cullen asked, "You shouted something about ten minutes earlier. What was that about?"

"That? I told them I'd restrain myself to just defending for the first ten minutes and I'd treat them all to drinks if they could land a single blow on me within that time." She leaned an elbow against the windowsill and peered outside.

"A little confident, aren't you?" The waitress brought them their drinks and he nodded to her his thanks. Downstairs, the bard strummed her lute experimentally as she rambled a string of words that would hopefully rhyme with 'inquisitor'. None of them did.

Grisia laughed out loud. "Confidence is one thing, but I gave them a handicap and they still couldn't get a scratch! Had to give them something extra to aim for." She took a sip of the mead and hummed appreciatively. "That warrior who tried to cut my legs off, did you see her?"

"The last one standing apart from you?" Cullen raised an eyebrow. "I saw her, what about it?"

"She's got potential, that one. Managed to stay out of the way long enough to figure out my attack pattern and gutsy enough to try and play dirty. I'd keep an eye on her if I were you."

"At the rate you're going, maybe  _you_ should keep an eye on her."

"Me?" Grisia looked shocked. "Nonsense! I'm not the commander of the Inquisition!"

"No, but you're still taking the most time out of all of us to train them," he pointed out, "and you're good at what you do. I'm thankful for it, honestly. Our forces out on the field have reported almost no casualties ever since you came here."

"That's nothing to thank me for. You've got good soldiers here, that's all."

"Good soldiers don't appear out of thin air. Your training made them that way."

"They were already well-trained," she countered. "All I did was show them a few pointers.

Cullen sat back, exasperated. "Are you ever going to accept a compliment without protest?"

"Probably not. I don't get a lot of those, you know." Grisia laughed again, but this time her laugh sounded hollow. Cullen had the feeling she wasn't entirely joking. Noticing his change of expression, she quickly changed the subject. "How was your day, by the way? Did your meeting go well?"

The former templar started to answer but the question made him remember something that had been nagging at him ever since he left the war room, and his face fell. "Say," he said quietly, "have you ever baited a high dragon?"

"I've... killed high dragons when they tried to eat me, although I must admit I've never tried getting them to eat me  _on purpose_." she answered, a little perplexed.

"In other words baiting high dragons isn't something people normally do, right?"

"If your definition of normal is anywhere the same as mine then no, baiting high dragons is not something people normally do. What's this about?" Grisia looked at him in alarm.

The commander groaned and buried his face in his hands. He told her about the Inquisitor meeting a researcher from the University of Orlais in the Western Approach, and how he had managed to convince her to help him bait an Abyssal High Dragon for his research. "She meets this man camped out in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly she decides to help him catch a high dragon? How does someone even come to that kind of conclusion?

"She said it's for science.  _Science._ We're already at war and she wants to put herself in danger for  _science_ ," Cullen complained angrily. "And do you know who she brought into the war room to back her up?  _The Iron Bull_. Of course he's going to want to back her up! It's baiting and killing dragons! It's literally two of his most favourite pastimes combined!

"To make matters worse, she says she doesn't need a group of soldiers accompanying her because it'll  _scare the dragon away_. I'm worrying myself sick over her safety and she's more concerned about not scaring off a bleeding high dragon." He caught sight of her hiding her smile behind her hand and frowned. "You find this hilarious, do you?"

Grisia burst out laughing. "No," she said, choking for breath between guffaws, "of course I don't-- well, I suppose I do find it funny..."

Cullen's angry stare intensified. "No! Alright, alright, let me start from the beginning." Still chortling, she held up a hand while she organised her thoughts and cleared her throat. "Look. I won't say I don't know how you feel, given how His Lordship is prone to making terribly bad decisions himself," she began, "but you  _do_ realise that ten years ago I was being just as reckless as Her Grace is now?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm saying I know what it's like being saddled with an enormous responsibility out of the blue and wanting to let off some steam every once in a while. I did a lot of stupid things during the Fifth Blight ten years ago -- things that, in hindsight, are probably things that I never should've done in the first place. They were stupid and dangerous and reckless things, much like Her Grace's plan to bait some high dragons."

"Such as?" Cullen asked, curious despite himself.

"I remember we went to Honnleath for a stone golem and fought a desire demon for its control rod, and that same stone golem somehow persuaded me to accompany it to an abandoned thaig infested with darkspawn to help it regain its memories."

"A stone golem in Honnleath? Wait, do you mean that stone statue in the middle of the village square? That was a  _golem?_ "

"You know about it?"

"Know about it? I played tag around that statue when I was a child!"

"I think Shale mentioned something about that once. I didn't know you were from Honnleath."

"I've never told you. What else did you do?"

"We did a spot of treasure-hunting in the Brecilian Forest and we had to disturb these wards placed in graveyards that spawned revenants and skeleton every time we did so. We must've killed, what, a hundred skeletons while searching for it? There were a lot of skeletons. A lot of skeletons for one set of massive armour. Also there was that time when a dwarf companion of mine made me go with him when he went to woo his old girlfriend back. That was the scariest.

"My point is, all those trivial things and the fact that His Lordship stood by me through it all were what kept me sane. Yes, I had a civil war to settle, a traitor to overthrow, a king to put on the throne, armies to gather, a Blight to stop and a darkspawn horde to wage war against, but if I didn't take some time off and do some searching for lost heirlooms or something of the sort, I was going to go mad from the stress.

"You've all done an incredibly admirable job with the Inquisition, but you have to remember that only last year Her Grace was just a regular Circle mage. She deserves the chance to let her hair down and do whatever she wants without having her actions scrutinised all the time, and to be able to return home at the end of the day to people who care for her."

Cullen fell silent. It was true that sometimes even he forgot how relatively new the Inquisition was; it was hard to believe that the destruction of Haven had taken place a little over a year ago, and yet the Inquisition had now made its name as one of the most powerful organisations in Thedas. Their success in closing the Breach, along with stopping the assassination of Empress Celene at her own peace talks, had increased their influence greatly. It was hard to remember that at the helm of it all was a woman who had left her Circle -- the only home she had ever known -- only last year.

"I understand you're anxious for her safety," Grisia said gently. "But sometimes what she needs isn't you worrying about her all the time; she needs you to be there for her when she comes back to Skyhold. She loves you. You know that, right?"

He smiled wryly. It wasn't as if he and Olivier had tried hard to keep their relationship a secret, but it was unsettling how quickly word spread around inside the fortress. "As much as you do, it seems," he sighed and drank deeply from his tankard.

"Is it a bad thing? Most of the soldiers seem genuinely happy for the two of you. Some have even placed bets on when you're going to pop the question."

Cullen nearly spat out the ale in his mouth. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stared at Grisia, flabbergasted. "They  _what?_ "

"Personally I've got my money on the next two years."

" _Grisia!_ "

"I was joking!"

Their talk turned to more trivial things, and they chatted about everything and nothing for a few minutes. The tavern began to fill with people looking for something to eat, and as more and more people came in, Cullen and Grisia decided it was time for them to get back to work. As they stepped outside the Herald's Rest, however, a commotion drew their attention: down in the courtyard, a group of guards were having their hands full trying to restrain a young elf who was shouting bloody murder. Glancing at each other briefly, the commander and former Warden raced down the steps and made their way to the courtyard. "What's going on here?" Cullen barked at one of the guards.

"Commander!" One of the guards saluted him, albeit with difficulty. "We found this elf trying to break into the quarters, and he attempted to attack us when we apprehended him. What shall we do with him?" The elf struggled in their grip and when that proved futile, he spat at the ground at Cullen's feet.

"Shem! You live in fancy castles while we starve in the Alienages! Some protector of Thedas you are!" He caught sight of Grisia beside Cullen and his eyes widened. "You! You traitor!" he screamed, and nearly broke his neck as he struggled even harder to be let loose, surprising one of the guards who accidentally released his grip on the elf. He sprang towards the Hero of Ferelden, his hands reaching for her throat, but before Cullen had the chance to shout out a warning, Grisia caught him with a flying armbar and slammed him to the ground, rendering him immobile. He screamed from the pain and Grisia twisted his arm.

"Any more noise out of you and I'll rip it clean out of its socket," she hissed. The elf quieted down, though not without sobs and whimpers.

Shocked murmurs and whispers rose in the courtyard. "Do you know this elf, Grisia?" Cullen questioned. She shook her head.

"I'd remember the face of someone who'd try to kill me the moment they saw me, to be quite honest," she said grimly, "and I'm quite certain I've never seen this one before."

The elf cried out despite his fear. "Of course you haven't! You abandoned the Alienage and left us all to rot just because you've made it to the outside world! You're nothing but a flat-ear, a wannabe shem!"

Grisia's face darkened and she wordlessly twisted his arm even harder. The elf screamed again, louder this time, his piercing voice echoing throughout Skyhold. Cullen winced. "That's enough, Grisia, let him go. We'll take him into custody."

She looked at the commander for a moment, her face an indiscernible mask, before releasing the elf from the armlock. The elf lay on the ground, sobbing, and put up no resistance as the guards dragged him away towards the dungeon. Grisia got to her feet and dusted her clothes.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied curtly. "Listen: go easy on him, will you? I doubt he meant any real harm to the Inquisition. He's just a stupid brat who thinks anything he does is of consequence."

Cullen frowned at her. "Even if you say that, he still tried to break into Skyhold's quarters. Maker knows what he might have done if he had succeeded."

Grisia sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I know," she said, a note of frustration in her voice, "but you can't execute a kid just because he doesn't know what he's doing."

They stood in silence for a moment, Cullen watching Grisia carefully as the latter thought hard about what to do. Her eyes had widened in surprise when the young elf mentioned the Alienage, and a heartbeat later the surprise was gone, replaced by a cold rage. This was something personal to her, something too close to home, and Cullen could see it was troubling her deeply. She closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and when she opened her eyes again the rage was no longer there. There was only sadness in them and resignation in her voice as she said to him quietly, "Give me some time. I'll talk to him, try and get some sense into his head. With luck I may be able to turn him into an agent for the Inquisition."

"You think he'll be useful?"

Grisia shrugged. "He might. He's from the Denerim Alienage, so the fact that he's even here in the first place means he's extremely mobile. He could make a good scout for Leliana. We'll see."

Cullen recalled that the Hero of Ferelden had lived in the Denerim Alienage before becoming a Grey Warden. He was right; it  _was_ something personal, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She would tell him if she wanted to. "If you insist, we'll keep him in the holding cells until tomorrow. Any later than that and the Inquisitor will be the one to judge him." A scout ran up to him, waving an urgent report that needed attention.

"Fair enough. And Cullen?"

"Yes?" He turned to look at her.

"Thank you for not asking."

Cullen watched as she walked away, stunned by her expression, the scout's words falling on deaf ears. He had expected her to be troubled, or distressed, or angry even.

What he did not expect was the look of abject sorrow on her face.

Hours later, the Hero of Ferelden stood in front of the young elf's cell, frowning deeply. His name, the guard had told her, was Seneris; it had taken the guard some food and not a little coaxing but she had managed to get him to talk in the end. She also reported that the young elf had been muttering death threats ever since he was thrown into the cell, and confirmed that his intention was to break into Skyhold's quarters and try to cause as much harm to the Inquisition as possible. Two vials of poison along with a tripwire and caltrops had been found on his person, serving as proof.

Now, as Grisia stood in front of him, Seneris was as belligerent and foul-mouthed as ever. She pondered on what to say, and settled on something familiar to the two of them.

"How is Hahren Shianni?"

He spat at her. "I don't need to say anything to you."

"I take it that means she's doing well?"

"Piss off, you filthy bastard."

Grisia sighed. "You really should mind your language a little. This is a member of the Inquisition you're talking to."

"I'm not afraid of you,  _flat-ear_."

She raised an eyebrow in mocking disbelief. "I find that hard to believe considering how much you're trembling right now, but I suppose a child can choose to believe whatever he wants. In any case, you're quite right: I'm not the person you should be afraid of right now."

Seneris glared. "The Herald of Andraste doesn't scare me. She's just a stupid shem. I was going to kill her anyway if you useless idiots hadn't captured me."

Grisia made the executive decision never to mention that to Cullen. "Oh, I'd be scared if I were you. She does have the right to have you executed come tomorrow morning, after all." She crossed her arms and leaned against the cell door, peering at the dirt under her fingernails and studiously ignoring the young elf's growing look of horror as he processed the meaning of her words.

"What do you mean execute?" he began stammering. "She's going to have me killed? I'm going to d-die?"

Grisia pretended not to hear. Seneris lurched forward and grabbed the bars, his eyes wide and knuckles white with terror. "Oh, so  _now_ you're afraid." She laughed in his face. "What did you take the Inquisition for? Did you honestly think you could get away after making a stunt like this? You just confessed to breaking into Skyhold's quarters with the intention of causing harm to  _the_ leader of the Inquisition. You think they're going to let that slide?"

"But you can help, right? You're the Hero of Ferelden! You're an elf! You're one of us!" Seneris was desperate now, tears brimming in his eyes, his shaking hands almost too weak to clutch the cell bars. Grisia stared at him in disbelief before snickering derisively.

"One of you? Don't make me laugh," she sneered. "Your Alienage threw me out years ago; disowned me, cast me out and told me to never return. You said it yourself, didn't you? I'm nothing but a  _flat-ear_  now. How could I possibly help you?"

The young elf fell to his knees and began to wail in despair. She watched him cry until he was reduced to dry sobbing and kneeled down to his level. "This is why you're a nothing but a child," said Grisia quietly. "You speak of revenge but lack the courage to carry it through. You remain trapped in that cage you call the Alienage and you don't even think to see what the outside world might be like. You don't know what's it like to live, and now you're going to die because of your own idiocy. I hope you're proud of yourself." She rose to her feet and began to walk away.

"Wait! You can't just leave me!"

"Oh, I can and I will."

Seneris stared at her helplessly as she began climbing up the stairs that led to outside the dungeon and felt something broke inside him. "You monster!" he screamed. "Hahren Shianni was wrong about you! She said you were a kind person! She said you were a  _hero!_ "

Grisia stopped in her tracks. "What did you say?"

"She said you were someone worth respecting, that you'd saved her and everyone in the Alienage ten years ago. Everyone in the Alienage hates you but Hahren Shianni always told me that you were a good person. She was wrong!"

She didn't answer and stood there on the stairs for a good minute or so before turning to walk back towards him, her face murderous. "You're right," she said, her voice low and deadly. Seneris instinctively scrambled towards the back of his cell, trying to get as far away as he could from the cell door. "You're absolutely right; Shianni  _was_ wrong." She slammed a fist against the cell door and Seneris recoiled in shock and fear.

"I am not a good person," Grisia snarled. "A hero? She's  _delusional._ Ten years ago is fucking ancient history. I'm not the same person Shianni knew all those years ago, and I sure as hell am not a hero now." Angry tears ran down Seneris' face. She sneered at him. "That's right, keep on crying. That's all you'll ever amount to. You can't even kill someone like me, and you want to change the world? You're a fucking brat." She spat at him and left the dungeon, the young elf screaming insults and curses at her back. Outside, the moon shone brightly in the sky, illuminating the mountains surrounding Skyhold. Despite the late hour there were still activity in the stronghold; messengers ran to and fro couriering important messages, the tavern was full of people having a merry time, and in the infirmary the surgeon worked hard at tending to the wounded.

"Are you all right?"

Grisia glanced at the figure leaning against the wall beside the dungeon entrance. The Left Hand of the Divine watched her with something akin to a mixture of sadness and amusement. "He does seem to be very angry at you."

The elf shrugged. "What can I say, making people want to kill me seems to be an innate talent. Can't even save the world without getting thrown out of my own home," she half-joked, a bitter smile on her lips. "At any rate, I think you can work your magic now. He'll accept any offer you make him, I guarantee it."

"Oh? You sound very confident of this one."

"When a man's got nothing to lose, he'll take whatever's given to him. Especially if you add revenge to the pot."

Leliana looked at her sharply. "Revenge against who?" When Grisia didn't answer, she frowned in distaste. "Surely not against you?"

"There's got to be something to aim for."

"That's madness!" Leliana exclaimed incredulously. "What if he actually succeeds in killing you?"

"Then the Inquisition will have obtained a highly skilled agent and assassin. Think of it as training, Leliana. Either way, both you and Seneris win."

The spymaster stared long and hard at her friend. "And you never do, don't you?" she said finally. Grisia merely smiled. Leliana shook her head and disappeared into the dungeon.

Grisia watched as the door closed behind Leliana, her parting words ringing in her mind.  _And you never do, don't you?_  She supposed Leliana was right about that. She never did win. Getting conscripted into the Grey Wardens on her wedding day, falling in love with a man who could never be hers, ending the Blight only to be shunned and forgotten -- her life was a bloody tragedy. She had long come to terms with it, however, and had resigned herself to living out what few decades she had left the best she could. What's a tragedy when you know you're going to die in another twenty years or so anyway? Grisia looked up at the sky and yawned, stretching her arms above her head. Today had tired her out greatly, and she wondered if Hawke would be up for a chat. It would be nice if he was; she liked the Champion, and listening to him tell of the crazy and almost outlandishly unbelievable stories of his adventures in Kirkwall was always great fun. It made a nice change from thinking about the Grey Wardens or Corypheus or the Venatori. As if on cue, Hawke and Varric's raucous laughter drifted from the open hall and she began to make her way towards the great hall, humming a song in anticipation of a good tale.

Cole watched her from the battlements as she ran up the steps to the hall. The guards paid little attention to him, used to his odd ways by now. He heard the sound of guards standing on attention as the heavy tread of Cullen's boots stopped beside him, and he turned his head to look at the commander. "I am not doing anything," he said simply.

Cullen sighed and waved the guards away. He had more or less gotten accustomed to Cole's mind-reading, but it still made him feel uneasy at times. The boy had such a peculiar way of knowing what's going on inside your head, and the way he spoke about them helped little. "You're not now, but what  _were_ you doing up here?"

"I was listening to the pain."

"Whose?"

The boy pointed at the dungeon and then at the great hall. "Theirs. Hers is stronger that his."

Somehow Cullen understood what he meant.

"No one cared that she saved the world. Cullen, why don't they care?"

Cullen remembered her hollow laugh earlier in the day.

"I wonder about that myself."

He left Cole to his musings and headed back to his office, his mind filled with tales of legends and those who forget them.


	4. the long walk: interlude 2

\- t h e  g u i d a n c e -

there are too many who have walked this path before you. they mark the way, show you where to go. armour turning to dust, brittle swords and axes, staves with dulled crystals, a skeletal hand pointing ever deeper. deeper you go. they beckon you. they are your beacon, down in the darkness of the bowels of the earth. 

down here, they are your companions.

down here, they show you where to go to die.


End file.
